Yes, Master
by chezchuckles
Summary: Post-episode tag for 8x17 'Death Wish'. "What has he done that you should give him this pleasant life— what have I done to deserve so hard a fate?" ― Anonymous, Tales from the Arabian Nights
**Yes, Master**

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 _"What has he done that you should give him this pleasant life— what have I done to deserve so hard a fate?"_

 _― Anonymous, Tales from the Arabian Nights_

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 **Post-episode tag for 8x17 'Death Wish'**

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Kate slips her fingers over his forearm. He lifts his hand to gesture her inside ahead of him, and she goes, feeling the faint touch at her back as he follows.

Jenny is washed out and radiant at the same time, her arms empty, but not the room. The baby, currently being coddled by a grandmother, is passed around by the rest of the Ryan and O'Malley clans, everyone from old to young getting a chance to coo in little Nicky's face.

Kevin himself is still in his suit from work, and as silly as it seems, it's also fitting, her detective dressed up for the arrival of his son.

Kate glances to her own husband, reaches out to take his hand. He's waiting in what appears to be a receiving line, not all that patient for his turn to hold the baby. He does step back with her against the wall, lifting an eyebrow in question.

She shakes her head, lips lifting.

"What?" he says, voice pitched low to ride under the sound of O'Malley sisters as they swap stories about nipple inversion and mastitis. "What's that Mona Lisa look for?"

She chuckles softly and steps into his side, twining her arm around his waist. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"About?"

"How glad I am to have you at times like these," she says, lifting a hand to drape it at his shoulder, resting her chin there. He's close enough to kiss this way, but it's so good to not. To tease. To make him think it's coming.

"What times are these?" he says back, his own lips twitching at her nearness.

"Visiting hours," she admits, laughing a little at the look on his face. She wrinkles her nose. "You know I'm not a fan of babies. New mothers always think you automatically want to hold their newborn. Their floppy, purple-faced, acne-mottled newborn who will either do absolutely nothing - so boring - or scream for milk you can't give - awkward."

"I see we have issues."

She laughs and shakes her head. "Just glad _you_ are here to hold Nicky and let me off the hook."

"Partners," he says with relish. And she realizes he absolutely means it. Picking up for her where she's weak.

"Partners," she answers, and finally kisses him.

When it's his turn to hold the newest Ryan, despite Sarah Grace's insistent and loud bids for attention, Kate dutifully oohs and ahhs over little Nicholas, touching his tiny fingers where they cling to Rick's thumb.

 _He didn't wish for this._

Why is that a sobering thought?

She listens politely to the retelling of Nicholas's birth story, proper exclamations in their right places, and if she's here and also not here, it's her own fault.

But she stays firmly at Castle's side and lets the baby pass her by when Great-Granny reaches in for her turn. Kate sighs in relief at not needing to decline.

Castle, flushed and beaming, turns to her and takes her hand, and they say their good-byes to the Ryans, make their escape.

Well, _she_ makes her escape. Castle makes an entrance out of an exit, as always, though without the smoke and mirrors of genies and their ilk.

He regales her with a thousand and one stories of Alexis as a newborn, and how he watched her sleep those first few months, and took photographs of every face she made - and generally says nothing at all about _wouldn't it be nice_.

Still, she can't help but wish.

 **X**

She's awake and sprawled along the couch in his office, drinking Valerian tea to make her mind cease, though it's not doing much of a job. Still, the aroma and the heat are relaxing enough, and if she can pretend to star-gaze through the faint pink of city nightlight, she'll get there eventually.

 _There are more wishes than stars_ , she murmurs to herself, a line from a song that's floated to the surface more than a few times today.

She's awake and brooding, and she's wondering what wishes are for when there are no stars.

His hand on her shoulder is more surprising than it ought to be (she pretends she hasn't noticed that he half-wakes during the night and checks to be sure she's still there, pretends he's not marked and scarred by her even as deeply as she is herself).

"You're up," he notes, though there's no recrimination. "Mind still going? Exciting day."

She hums agreement and pulls her knees up to give him room on the couch, setting aside the tea. He drapes his arm over the back and sprawls himself, dark shadows in tantalizing places.

"Good day, all in all," he says, voice that burr of still-not-awake. "Did you notice how Nicky looks exactly like Sarah Grace at that age? He does that same thing with his mouth where he sucks one corner of his bottom lip-"

"I didn't notice," she murmurs, smiling at him. She props her cheek with a hand, elbow on the back of the couch, studying his repose.

His hands drop to her feet, tug them into his lap where he idly rotates her ankles, spreads her toes, all the prep work for a foot rub without the massage part. He's not really awake at all, goofy man, and he rolls his head on his neck and stares back at her from the couch cushions.

"Go back to bed, Rick. You're tired."

"You're not."

"I won't disappear on you."

His head lifts. "That woman was a genie, I swear-"

"There's my man," she murmurs.

He huffs, but his ears are pink, and she smiles again, nudging her toes against his inside thigh.

"You're brooding," he says, squeezing her ankle.

She gives a startled sigh and shakes her head. "How can you possibly know that?"

"Smile you give me. What's the cloud for?"

"Brooding, like you said," she tries, but it sounds worse than worthless as an answer. He hasn't let her get away with that kind of thing since that bleak night they got drunk instead of broken up.

She doesn't get to toss it off any longer.

"Your wishes," she admits, tilting her head to the back of the couch.

He lifts eyebrows for more.

"Or rather, what you didn't need to make wishes for, and while I love you for your perfect answers - and even more for meaning them - why wouldn't you wish for that?"

"Wish for what, Kate?" His voice is a ribbon of caramel through cream and she shivers, works her way down into the cushions. The leather is cool where her body hasn't been.

"Wish for babies," she explains foolishly. "Wish for us in that hospital, our turn. Or not even - not _that_ exactly but what about an end to this endless investigation so that we can _get_ to our turn?"

"I like being this with you." His eyes lock on hers, shadows. "I'm good with now."

She lowers her hand from her cheek and touches the soft place at the crook of his elbow, skin warm and pulse barely discernible. She strokes the taut curve of his forearm and around to his inside elbow, and she can hear his light breath.

"I'm not any good with now," she admits softly. She doesn't know why she's ashamed. "Being in the moment is hard for me. Always planning, thinking ahead. But with you... sometimes."

"Oh?"

"Then I'm back to obsessing. Like tonight. All the little pieces that don't fall into line, the threads of this story that aren't being told, the clues I can't find and the mysteries I can't solve and the investigation I can't seem to put an _end_ to-"

"It'll happen," he assures her easily. "We've done it before. We'll do it again."

She sighs, flattens her palm to his arm. "That. I need to learn how to do _that_ , Rick. Be in the moment."

"You can learn." It's a shrug and then a smile. Not hesitant any longer; he's been really very commanding around her lately. She knows he's hit his wall, she's found his hard limit, and ditching him for his own good is it. His smile tonight makes her think he hasn't a care in the world, just as he did at the hospital today.

"Learn," she echoes. "You make it sound so easy."

"I could teach you," he offers, eyebrows dancing.

She smirks and leans in, tracing two fingers up his bicep. "I'd like to learn..." His eyes are dark, and there is a hint of wild to him these days that comes from being wounded. She touches his chin, lightly skims his lips. "Learn from the Master."

Castle gasps, melodramatic, but it makes her light up inside, the reaction she gets from him.

"As you wish," he growls, and he surges forward. Enfolding her, dragging her into his lap to press her body to his, all the best places.

His mouth is erotic at her neck.

She takes a hard breath and closes her eyes.

"Oh, _yes_ , Master."

 **X**


End file.
